Five Roses

He gave me five roses. Told me when the last one dies, our love no longer exists. One of the roses was red, for his burning desire inside. One was black, a red ribbon tied around the stem, to keep the reaper of death away. One was yellow, for happiness that will come. One was white, representing the angels above. The last mattered most, it was as fake as can be. With leaves attached to each side. It was the color of grass, on that warm summer morn. It mattered because, it would never die.

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